The fugitive ripple of an ironical smile played about the lips of the President; he was about to say, in a happy turn of phrase, that he could understand the pride of family, even when, as in this case, it overshot the mark; but a loud cry in a heavy voice in the immediate neighborhood prevented him. The one who shouted was von Strummin, who came down the short cross street leading from the main street of the village to the parsonage in such haste that Reinhold, who had already heard of the arrival of his friend in the early morning, had no time to tell the President of the relation of the two men. On the other hand, von Strummin shouted, before he extended his hand to the President--"I have the honor, Mr. President, to present to you my son-in-law, Mr. Justus Anders, renowned sculptor--the grand gold medal, Mr. President!--came this morning with my daughter from Berlin, accompanied by your aunt, Commander--he took the arrangements in hand at once, as your aunt wished it so--had the whole lower floor cleared out--looks now like the church in Strummin! Yes, my honored President! Such an artist! The rest of us must all stand with open mouths.--And now just think, Mr. President--the pastor cannot, or rather will not, preach the funeral sermon--declines at the last moment! We--my son-in-law and I--have just seen him--didn't even receive us--can't see any one--can't speak at all--beautifully hoarse. The parish of Golm, which the Count has promised him, still sticking in his throat!" "Pardon, Strummin," said Reinhold, interrupting the zealous man, "I differ widely from the pastor in his belief, but here I must take his part. He is really ill, very ill, and his illness has a justifiable cause. I know it; for my men, and, as it happened, I myself--we have had the feeble old man with us everywhere as a volunteer wherever there was need of giving help or consolation, and you know that was the case on not a few occasions." "Well, if you say so!" exclaimed von Strummin; "and it may be, too, that I have become suspicious, if I think I scent only a trail of our fine Count. But the Parish of Golm----" "Dear von Strummin," whispered the President, "why all that so loud!--And you have heard----" "Well, for all I care!" cried Strummin; "I am only saying that the Parish of Golm----" The two friends could not hear what Strummin, now lowering his voice at the repeated request of the President, said further in support of his theory. They remained some distance behind, shaking hands repeatedly, while tears stood in their eyes.